Vive ut Vivas
by Cassie Jamie
Summary: The grieving that follows a loss is real, and can be very painful. An AU where Earth is no longer an option. Contains het & slash pairings.
1. One

**Disclaimer:** I've been trying for years. Still, they are not mine.  
**Pairings:** McKay/Beckett, Weir/Zelenka, Dex/Emmagan  
**Summary:** The grieving that follows a loss is real, and can be very painful.  
**Notes:** AU, future set with children. OCs and SG-1 characters included.

"_We must remember that one determined person_

_can make a significant difference, and that a small group_

_of determined people can change the course of history._"

- Sonia Johnson -

The expedition had been on its own for eight years when Elizabeth made the announcement. Bullets had long ago run out and clothing had been fashioned from fabrics they bartered for; foods that had once been frustratingly unfamiliar had become favorites.

They had survived times that should have torn them apart, but instead forged friendships. Relationships had blossomed – straight and gay alike. Marriages and birth announcements were not unusual to find on the inter-city message boards. Refugees had integrated into the original crew, increasing their numbers and happily learning whatever the former Terrans wanted to teach.

In short, Atlantis had become more home than a military installation or science facility. It seemed with each passing day that the city was returning to what she had been thousands of years earlier.

Then Elizabeth had called to the conference room the senior staff to share the news she had received in a data burst from a distant coordinate of space – Earth had not forgotten them and soon there would be a ship in orbit with supplies, letters, crew.

Many had rejoiced. They all missed the simplest of things like shoes that weren't made with reeds and strips of bark, ready-made meals, and hot dogs. Popcorn, anchovies, and bacon were hard to come by and Jamaican Blue coffee beans weren't exactly something they'd come across at the bazaars on Miana or Kroviani.

There were, however, those who'd looked at the arrival of contact with Earth with fear. The ship was military, the occupants no doubt Air Force and Marine assigned to Stargate Command, and who knew what orders they would bring. There were plenty of expedition members that could be recalled, leaving behind families.

"Rodney, it's been eight years – the majority of our military staff's enlistments were up a long time ago," Elizabeth pointed out to him an hour before the Icarus arrived.

They were sitting in Elizabeth's office, feet up on the coffee table and aged computers sitting in their laps. Though the programmers and the engineers had managed to keep the majority of their electronics going, Rodney had to admit that not having to deal with motherboards and processors crashing left and right would be a nice change.

"I'll concede there, but the other things – Elizabeth, they could tell you you're out and send someone new," he told her. It was among his greatest worries, topped only by the scenario where Sheppard and Lorne were reassigned and the one involving newly introduced science staff members. He refused to acknowledge the worst of them all where the entire mission was called off and everyone was ordered out of Atlantis.

"That would be horrible. You'd have to break in a new person to allow your insanity," she teased, tossing out the oldest of jokes between them.

"Don't. I'm being serious."

Sighing, Elizabeth nodded. She'd hoped the humor would lighten the mood since all of Rodney's fears were making her own leap to mind. The last thing she wanted was to needlessly nurse her anxiety before she met Colonel Alton and end up some how making it seem as though she was no longer capable of running the expedition.

A knock on her door stole their attentions from the conversation and they both looked up to see John standing there with his three-year-old adopted daughter clutching him tight around one leg.

"Would someone please watch their goddaughter for ten minutes so I can get my uniform on?" he asked, desperate. He'd unsuccessfully tried to pry her off of him in their quarters until it'd become clear that she was not letting him go anytime soon and then set out, slowly, to find one of Abby's beloved elders.

"No!" Abby's little voice declared.

Apparently, she was also one of the denizens worried about military influences. Rodney gave a mental cheer to his niece's intelligence and cleared his lap, opening his arms and waiting for her to leap at him as she normally did.

John groaned when she continued to cling to him. "Next time _someone_," he emphasized the word, "wants to have a freak out, could it please be done out of her hearing range?"

"I thought she was asleep!" Rodney defended, getting to his feet.

The two men ended up needing to enlist Chuck's help to unwind the child from her father's body and John had run off with the promise that he would relieve them as soon as he was changed. Rodney had simply told him to take his time since he had no intention of showing up in anything other than the clothing he wore everyday.

"You know, Carson will not be pleased that you didn't even attempt to make yourself more presentable," Elizabeth pointed out after Abby settled and reluctantly began to play with the homemade crayons and paper.

"Presentable is like beauty."

"In the eye of the beholder?" She asked.

"No – it only matters on the surface."

"_Take time to deliberate;_

_but when the time for action arrives,_

_stop thinking and go in._"

- Napoleon Bonaparte -


	2. Two

"_Take time to deliberate;_

_but when the time for action arrives,_

_stop thinking and go in._"

- Napoleon Bonaparte -

They'd given the Icarus clearance to land on the East Pier once radio contact had been made and those chosen to be among the welcome party had calmly gathered, all silent as they laid eyes on the slightly battered ship.

Clearly there had been battles in its past and John could tell from the exterior's scars that they were both old and they'd not engaged the Wraith. He wondered what life was like in Milky Way if the ship had such horrible damage that they hadn't even taken the time to wash off the soot that spoke of explosives.

The crew that disembarked looked haggard, uniforms rumpled and mended a dozen times over. Two dozen personnel quietly made their way off the ship via the port side cargo ramp with their hands full of gear, a thick group civilians who looked nearly as tired followed behind.

Leading the group was Colonel Matthias Alton, a tall man with dark hair and dark olive skin contrasted by light eyes. His shoulders were strong and squared, his spine straight; if it weren't for the long rip and the smatterings of dirt on his jumpsuit, he would have looked like he'd only just left boot camp.

"Elizabeth Weir." He'd moved to stand in front of her and extended a hand, "I hope you can forgive our sudden arrival. We would have sent word long ago about what happened, but well..." Alton trailed off and glanced at his scuffed shoes and everyone of the Atlantean inhabitants knew without a doubt that the crew did not have good news.

The diplomat in her came to the forefront and she shook his hand, holding it for an extra few moments. "You've come a long way and I'm sure your crew would appreciate something fresh to eat," she told him. "We'll worry about everything else later."

Elizabeth felt her heart twist at the gratefulness that appeared on his face, as thought he hadn't expected to be welcomed into the city. She let herself think about it for only a second, then she began shepherding everyone inside and directed them through the corridors. Carson diverted those who looked ill or injured to the infirmary, glad that he'd trusted his intuition that morning when he'd told his staff to be prepared for patients.

It had always amazed Weir how quickly her people could bond together in an emergency, producing any needed supplies even if it meant giving up something personal. In under an hour, warm clothing had been distributed to the newcomers; they'd been fed, shown around, and even introduced to some of the nine hundred plus residents.

"I admit I hadn't expected there to be children," Alton said as he looked out the glass of Elizabeth's office at the Stargate and then back at the people gathered there.

Carson and Rodney were sitting in chairs to the left of the woman's desk. Ronon and Teyla occupied the couch while John was on the floor with his back settled against it. Elizabeth had perched herself on a desk corner with Chuck taking her chair. Radek rounded out the present staff as he stood against the only door, a way to ensure that no one could sneak in without notice.

"I don't think we did either," John replied. "Then we ended up finding a few orphans on a mission and we weren't about to leave them."

Alton nodded in agreement, twisting his hands together. "You've all done an amazing job here," he told told them, "We'd hypothesized at the SGC that a governing system of some kind would have been established. Maybe a school or something, library."

Though they'd been cut off from Earth for nearing a decade, the SGC had foolishly believed that the expedition had likely not developed much. They had believed that the people in Pegasus had held to their Earth-based ways of life, their traditions and rules, for several years.

Instead, Matthias could see the leadership had been wrong: they had created a working government, a system for taking in survivors and orphans, a way to barter, a church, a school, and homes. There were places that were denoted as recreational areas including public swimming pools, an indoor park, and a playground constructed from various items found either in the city or on other worlds. There was even a store that functioned on a currency the anthropologists had created. Atlantis felt more like something entirely new where he had expected to find similarities; clearly the expedition members hadn't given up the hope of Earth, but they hadn't mired themselves in it and had forged ahead.

"We would probably have more done by now, but you know... only so much I can do in a day," Rodney answered, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

"Of course, Dr. McKay," Alton smiled and felt himself finally start relaxing, his muscles growing looser and the tension in his shoulders evaporating. It had been a long time since he could safely stop being constantly on alert, constantly prepared for battle and blood and death.

The sadness and fatigue almost seemed etched onto his face and Elizabeth reached out to set one hand on his arm. Memories rose unbidden in her mind, times when she too sported such a look in the face of horrors she'd never thought of.

"Icarus is the fourth deep space vessel we built. After Prometheus, there was the Daedalus and the Apollo and both were intended to be used as a go-between for Earth and Atlantis," he told them. "Daedalus was destroyed in her maiden voyage almost the minute she hit the outer atmosphere. All hands including an Asgard perished.

"Apollo's mission had been decided before she was built, but she was never put to that use." He sighed, the sight of bodies floating past the Icarus' fore windows forever burned into his eyes as he thought of the ship's heroic demise. "A few of the crew were able to make it off the ship and into the F-302s, but we were unable to reach them in enough time to render assistance."

The last sentence had become rote since the Battle of Winnecke, having repeated it to so many times that he'd lost count. Presidents, prime ministers, kings, queens; he'd told all those in power what he and his crew had seen in that nearly barren stretch of space a handful of light years away.

"After Apollo was lost, we activated the off-world sites to begin moving people off Earth in case of a disaster. The Air Force revealed the Stargate in an emergency address at the White House," he continued. "There was mass panic as the news spread. In the first three days after the news, there was an increase in crime – looting, breaking and entering, assault, murder. I guess people were answering the question of what they would do if there wasn't consequences."

Alton rubbed his eyes. "We never got a chance to get people to the Alpha site. By the time the population started to calm down, the attack started. Crew and I tried to do what we were able, but in the end we just gathered up whoever we could find and made a run at the weak spot in their offensive."

"The people on the Icarus..." Radek whispered.

"We are the survivors." Alton nodded, confirming the worst of the Atlanteans' fears. "The holds were filled before we knew what was happening or I could have tried to find more people," he said, sadly as the screams of people running for the ship rang in his ears. He'd ended up turning off all external sensors to block out what was happening beyond the hull.

"Is there no chance that people made it to the Alpha site?"

Elizabeth answered for him, telling Carson, "There's always a chance." But she knew in her heart that the people she had once led, the people she had called friends, had stood guard until the end and died fighting. She could picture clearly Daniel Jackson standing beside Colonel Carter and Teal'c with Jack O'Neill a step ahead, not wavering even as they faced what they knew was their end.

"_Every man's life ends the same way._

_It is on the details of how he lived and how he_

_died that distinguish one man from another_."

- Ernest Hemingway -

The Icarus turned out to have brought them a smattering of letters, some years old and some more recent, addressed to a handful of people. Only three of the senior members received one; two fairly new and one older, but appreciated nonetheless.

Carson took solace in reading his mother's words, seeing that she had been happy in those last days with their family gathered together. He'd shared the sentiment with Rodney whose own correspondence from Jeannie had been during the last week, only to end up getting read the riot act by his husband; Carson had only taken the words and understood them for the pain that Rodney was trying to hold onto in his grief.

Sheppard, who'd buried both of his parents long before ever hearing the name Atlantis, had been surprised to find an official letter from O'Neill that contained his new rank insignia.

"I refuse to call you Colonel," Rodney groused after John had paraded around the city for two straight days with the pins attached to his clothing.

"Oh, come on, Rodney."

"No," he shot back and nodded a quick welcome to Alton -"_I prefer Matt_" - as he dug into his breakfast. "I haven't called you anything but John, Sheppard, or Moron in seven years. I'm your non-biological spawn's godfather and I've had my hands in your guts every time you've insisted on being a martyr. Why would I start calling you Colonel _now_?"

From the table behind them, Radek snorted and Lorne tried to stop himself from smiling in view of his commander.

Before a war of insults could start, Elizabeth reminded Rodney that the crates of new laptops would be offloaded from Icarus that afternoon along with hundreds of data discs that would have to be uploaded to the main library.

It was a sobering truth that the legacy of Earth and her inhabitants was their responsibility now. It was a story that they would add to the Ancients' database of knowledge and share with their children as their numbers grew.

"I'll have to replace all the dead system computers before I can hand out any," McKay commented idly. He poked at the blue-tinged eggs and added, "Katie Brown already talked to Anthro about getting all historical information into the database. They'll do it as soon as they get the discs and if anyone from the Icarus has something to add, they've got a list set up for them to come in and do so."

Matt nodded at the statement. "I'll pass along the message to them when I get back to the ship."

They all slid into silence, thinking over the survivors still unable to bring themselves to move into the city properly. Rebekah had explained that the Icarus had become a sanctuary to them, a place that had saved them and brought them to safety and they were loathe to part with it. It was a known to them and Atlantis may be safe, but it was new. "_Think back to when we arrived and how scared we all were_," she'd said.

Elizabeth was prepared to speak again when she heard the sound of little feet running through the door as Teyla yelled for them all to walk. "We do not run inside!" she told the gaggle of children who were all diving for the food line like they had never eaten before.

"You starving them again, Teyla?" John asked after they'd all sat down at a table properly. The look he received made him only widen his smirk and she settled down beside him as Ronon took over watching the youths.

"I believe your daughter is becoming more like you everyday," she said and greeted Alton. "I am pleased to see that you have decided to participate in activities with us."

Matt shrugged. "Hopefully my crew will follow my lead, but for now I'm really here for selfish reasons. I am... tired of the ship. The hyper drive sustained some damage when we made the run and stopping to cool the engines wasn't optional. After a while conversations get repetitive and you kind of get sick of the same sights over and over."

"How is your crew?" she asked in lieu of remarking how she did not believe it selfish to see change; Teyla had long ago observed in her friends that they needed to come to such conclusions on their own.

"We've been away from Earth for a while now, but I don't think it really sunk in until we got here that we're not going back," he admitted, aware that all eyes were on him. A laugh from the children's table gave him a moments reprieve, then turned his attention back to the others.

Something moved at the edge of his vision and Matt looked up to see that one of his passengers had braved the journey to the mess hall. She looked weary, a little distrustful, and ready to run at the drop of a hat yet she was there regardless.

Cassandra Fraiser had been one of the handful of people he'd been able to evacuate from the SGC. There with Sam Carter that day, she'd wanted to stay with her family. The elder woman had ended up begging her to go, unable to truly fight until she knew that the girl would live. He remembered the grateful look the new and old members of SG-1 had given him as he guided her from them and the way O'Neill had sadly waved goodbye when the elevator doors closed.

"Cassie?" Elizabeth murmured, upset she hadn't noticed the girl when the ship had first arrived. "She..."

"She hasn't left the Icarus until now. Once I had her on board, she went straight to Engineering and she's been there ever since," he shared. "I think she feels like it's the closest she's going to get to Colonel Carter."

The bond between the girl and her surrogate aunt had been legend in the Stargate Program. Almost everyone knew about the circumstances that had brought the alien girl to Earth and how Sam had fought to get her clearance at Command, a way to allow Cassandra to connect with a life she could easily recall.

"This is what? The third planet she's been on in less than two decades? She's had a second family taken away from her," John commented. "I'd want to hide too."

There were murmurs of agreement from the others, only able to imagine what she had seen and lived in her comparably short life.

"Given that, I think we might be a bit overwhelming for the lass at the moment," Carson said. He'd watched her arrive and how she was so busy sizing up the group of people in the hall that she almost appeared in a trance. "Perhaps it would be best if some of us left."

"She's going to have to deal with us all at some point."

"Yes, Rodney, but she's been here only a few days. She's like to feel some culture shock and you have to admit that your personality is not exactly the best one for a grieving young woman to encounter." Beckett rose to his feet and took his tray in hand, saying, "Let her get comfortable with Elizabeth or Teyla before we throw you at her."

With an indignant grunt, Rodney grabbed his tray and followed, complaining that he wasn't as bad as Carson was making him out to be. Teyla did the same a minute later with Ronon and the children in her wake; Radek, Lorne, and half a table of botanists were gone soon after as though they'd understood the actions of their colleagues without needing to be told.

Carson's words, however, had definitely rung true when Cassandra took in the decreased crowd and moved to the table to sit beside Elizabeth. Though she didn't speak at all for the half an hour the two women and Matthias remained there, Weir and Alton took it as progress.

They hoped it was an omen of the things to come.

"_A true friend never gets in your way_

_unless you happen to be going down_."

- Arnold H. Glasgow -


	3. Three

"_A true friend never gets in your way_

_unless you happen to be going down_."

- Arnold H. Glasgow -

It became routine in the following days for Cassie to emerge from the ship for breakfast, situating herself as near to Elizabeth as she could. She didn't always get something to eat from the cook nor did she always feel compelled to speak, but she was there and the Atlantean crew would take what they could get.

Ronon, for whatever the reason, had taken to meeting her at the main entrance on the East Pier and walking with her to the mess. No one dared ask why he had started to do so, but by the same token, they were all happy to see how she reacted to the man. How she clearly felt safe with him; how she held his hand and let him guide her, trusting him.

"You gonna eat that?" He asked her one morning before reaching across to nab a piece of bacon from her plate.

She slapped his hand away. "That's mine!" Cassie said in a laugh, shoving the whole strip into her mouth and chewing dramatically.

Carson pointed sideways at her, looking sharply at his husband. "You see? I am not the only one who protects their food from thieves!"

"Right, and when I collapse in the lab from starvation, you'll have to nurse me back to health," Rodney countered, more out of habit than any real threat.

"I don't nurse, Rodney," Carson said, smiling. "My staff does, but I hear tell that Dorian gives some delightful sponge baths."

"I see how it is – I fix the city, I go on missions, I keep you happy and you repay me with gruff, unshaven nurses!"

Toward the latter end of the declaration, John sat down in his normal spot across from Elizabeth, slouching into the chair and commenting, "Ah, the sound of bickering in the morning. Are they arguing about Dorian again?"

Matt snickered at his friend, blissfully unaware of the sadness all of them were feeling as they sat there. He'd not been there long enough to know the subtle changes in their behaviors, their demeanors, and he certainly didn't know the things that went on behind closed doors. He didn't understand that their teasing was a stress valve being turned, letting out what they'd never say aloud.

But where he hadn't known them long enough to have that knowledge, Cassie did and she once more felt herself dragged down in her memories. She knew the others were trying their hardest to not do the same – they had children to take care of and a city to keep running – but even if they didn't want to acknowledge it, they missed Earth. As much as Atlantis was their home, Earth was the place they were tied to by blood and they would take a longer time than the Icarus' crew had to accept it.

After all, they had not seen the invasion forces, they had not seen the explosions of projectiles as they landed just feet away from them, or seen the way people had run full tilt toward Cheyenne as the ship had lifted from the ground. There was no way for them to imagine the horror of seeing their civilization fall, unable to do anything and knowing that a handful of people at most would live to pass on the story.

Ronon nudged her under the table, pulling her back to the present and she smiled weakly at him before getting to her feet. Cassie said nothing as she wandered away; she didn't even have to put thought into her journey as she walked back to the Icarus.

She could sense Ronon at her side, never needing to look up and she was surprised when he continued to walk with her after she passed through the doorway to the landing pad. He normally stopped there and left her to her own devices, but apparently he had decided that he wasn't leaving Cassie alone and stayed with her even when she entered the ship, moving toward the engine room. There she had set herself up a bed with an air mattress and blankets, a picture of her family taped up beside it.

"Nice spot," he told her after he'd sat down on the floor, legs stretched in front of himself and his back against the bulkhead. "Quiet, few entrances – defendable."

The blush that rose to her cheeks was involuntary. "Yeah," she whispered.

He didn't say anything else and he didn't need to; Ronon knew Cassandra recognized what he was trying to tell her. What he hadn't expected, however, was the sense that she was ashamed, that she looked like she was unable to find the words to explain when she didn't need to. He felt his own pain rise in his gut, his own memories coming forward, and he took a deep breath against it all.

"I didn't know if you guys were still alive," she murmured after ten minutes had passed. "Didn't know if you'd welcome us or chase us away." She shrugged as she added, "I needed to be able to fight, but I guess it's like my mom told me – time to come in out of the cold."

"Sounds good," he told her, his voice gruff as he wondered if he'd ever looked as exhausted as she did and knew he had. They had such divergent yet similar backgrounds and Ronon hated that he could empathize with her, at age twenty-seven, more than the people he had spent years with. She shouldn't have had to live those experiences, in his opinion, and as she toyed gently with the tattered edge of her topmost blanket, he realized how much she reminded him of the sister he'd lost to the Wraith.

Acacia had been a beautiful woman, headstrong and independent and if she'd been able to, she would have fought beside him happily. She'd served in the medical division instead, daring any soldier to cross her when they were within her clutches. Lord, but he'd been so proud of her, especially at the end when buildings were crashing around them and most were retreating and she followed the Specialists into it all.

Now, here with him was another strong woman who had faced enough hardship and fighting to last a lifetime. She had traveled across space in a ship that could have fallen apart at any minute to find the people she called her own, prepared to fight them if she had to. She was a brilliant girl with nothing more than a worn photo and the clothing on her back and Ronon reached out to take her hand in his own.

That evening, they would rise and Ronon would drag her to the mess hall to eat before taking her to a door and telling her it was her room. He would help her move furniture, set her picture on the table by her bed, and wait until she finally fell hesitantly asleep in the early morning hours, guarding her against the nightmares that would come.

Until then, though, they remained on Cassie's homemade bunk without saying a word.

"_Regret for the things_

_we did can be tempered by time;_

_it is regret for the things we did not do_

_that is inconsolable."_

- Sydney Smith -

Rodney, on a good day, was ornery and irritable. His friends and partner had learned a simple few weeks into the expedition that it was a front, a way to keep everyone at arm's length. They'd never learned the why – Rodney wasn't exactly the sharing sort, no matter how much time he had spent in Kate's office – and his friends were the first to admit that they weren't entirely sure they wanted to know.

But in the aftermath of the Icarus' arrival and subsequent unsettling of Atlantis' crew, there were no good days within sight and Rodney became a whirlwind, switching between moods at the drop of a hat. Carson could barely keep up with his husband as the man jumped from project to project, sleeping so little that he was heading for a collapse.

"Rodney, please," Radek was pleading when Carson arrived that evening. "Get out of the lab. Go eat. Go shower. Go... bother John or Elizabeth – I cannot take you any longer!"

Carson was tempted to snort at Radek's words. After all, it was not uncommon to hear him dismiss Rodney from their shared lab when Rodney was particularly belligerent. He leaned against the door frame and agreed, saying, "I think your staff is about to storm in and demand your head, love."

He only hrumph'd in reply and continued working, bent over his laptop. Rodney tapped away, trying desperately to ignore the two sets of eyes that were on him, until he finally gave in. "All right! I'm going," he said. If he'd been able to, he'd have slammed the computer lid shut, but at ten, the Dell's days were decidedly numbered.

He half-stomped out of the room like a child, annoyed that he'd once again allowed himself to be run from his own lab. It was only seven-thirty; he had plenty of time to get some quality research in before he dragged himself home for a few hours of sleep. Granted, he probably wouldn't sleep very long tonight as he hadn't the previous days, but it was still worth a try.

"Well, you're doing a wonderful impression of Abigail."

"Fuck you, Carson," Rodney spat and turned left, down the corridor toward the west pier - away from his partner. He clenched his teeth as he walked and listened to the drag of Beckett's feet behind him, following at a slight distance.

This was not a new thing for them. Carson had learned long ago that Rodney's first instinct when it came to having a strong emotion was to hide behind anger and frustration, to keep it contained within and chase everyone away. It was all he knew how to do; it was what his parents had taught him through example and he had learned those lessons well.

So they'd wander Atlantis for a bit, Rodney pretending he didn't notice the human shadow as they went along. Even others in the city knew not to bother them, fearing the verbal thrashing Rodney McKay could give when he was truly frustrated or annoyed.

It was over an hour later that Rodney stopped on a balcony overlooking the spires of the Southwest Pier, a decent walk from their quarters. Both suns had sunk beneath the horizon, stars now lighting the exterior of the city in an eerie yet comforting glow.

The doors clicked behind them, locked, and Rodney pressed against the bronzed metal. His arms crossed over his chest, his lips crooked and it slapped Carson in the face. He knew what was bothering his husband so.

"You didn't fail Madison, Rodney. And you certainly didn't fail Jeannie."

"Oh, please, Carson," he spat and in a characteristic move, said, "I couldn't fail them anyway – I wasn't there."

"No, you weren't and thank god for that!" Carson declared, unrepentant as he thought of the things Rodney had had a hand in through the years. So much of Atlantis had been brought on-line, technologies discovered, because of the science staff and they'd worked as hard as they had because of their leader. Even they acknowledged that he pushed himself harder than they themselves did when a problem presented itself.

Radek had once said that Rodney really was the smartest man in the city. Of course, no one had ever repeated that sentiment to the man. But at the same time, he lacked the people smarts that most had; he never could think logically when it came to the ones he cared about.

"What would you have done there, love? How could you have saved them?" Carson pushed, knowing the answer already.

"I could have been there!" Rodney spat. "I haven't seen or spoke to Jeannie in nine years. Nine, Carson. Madison lived and died without ever having met me." He paused, eyes closing against the pain, and he slid down the wall.

"I don't even know what she looked like."

"_Surprise is the greatest gift_

_which life can grant us_."

- Boris Pasternak -


	4. Four

"_Surprise is the greatest gift_

_which life can grant us_."

- Boris Pasternak -

Abigail Elizabeth Sheppard, aged three years and two months, had been adopted by John after discovering the orphans on a world where suicide missions were carried out by people who'd already "carried on their lineage." The abandoned children were left to the care of overworked crèche masters who were less teachers, more social workers.

Living in decrepit conditions, the Kilanien children had been among the sickest Pegasus inhabitants Sheppard had ever met. They had so little food and clean water that many died as toddlers and those who survived usually followed the same path as their parents – birthing children, then dying in ineffective attacks against the wraith.

SG-Alpha had gone to Kilani to trade for food and came home with refugees. Such was how little Abigail had come to Atlantis. How she became John's daughter was a longer story and it didn't much matter to anyone who had come to see the good it had done their military leader.

What the residents of the city didn't know, however, was how in-tune Abby – and the other children – were to their adoptive parents and families. They sometimes spoke to each other of the strange reactions the kids had to emotional situations, but never discussed it further.

Oh, but how John wished they had one morning twelve days after the Icarus' arrival.

Abby, while normally a bright and energetic child, had woken up in a sullen mood to match his own. The grief of losing Earth, and consequently any ability to show her ferris wheels, black and white cows, or an actual movie theater not rigged up by the engineering staff, had finally set in. He was too emotionally drained to deal with a screaming child, so clearly fate decided that's what he should have.

"We're not doing this, Abigail. We're not! You're getting into those clothes, we're having breakfast with Aunt Teyla, and then you're going to school!" He told her with hands on hips and his voice the same as he used with his marines.

She pouted at him, crossed her arms, and in a Rodney-like fashion, said, "Make me!"

"Daddy is two steps away from making you spend the day in your room," he responded and reached out to pick up the girl who promptly kicked him in the gut as she proceeded into full tantrum mode.

Sighing, John gave in to the reality that he had not avoided the terrible twos as he had hoped. It appeared it had simply become the terrible threes. Damn.

She had settled by the time John put her down on her bed, letting her stand on the covers instead of making her sit. He yanked out clothes and slammed drawers, moving through to room and telling the girl, "Abby, please, I need you to be good," as he did so.

"Daddy?"

John pulled the blue tunic dress over her head before answering her. "Abby?"

"Sorry," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck and tightening them. "Don't be sad, Daddy," Abby added when she finally released him. Her eyes, bluer than her godfather's that always seemed to sparkle with mischief, locked with his; they were impossibly old in that instant, wise beyond the age John knew her to be.

An idea popped into his head at that moment. It couldn't possibly be that all those strange things the children had done were reactions to parental emotions. Okay, they could since children from all walks of the universe could sense small changes in their caregivers, but the way the Kilani adopted acted...

Recalling the night Rodney had managed to glue his hand to his lab bench, the smirk appeared immediately on John's lips and he almost missed the giggles Abby let out. He forced himself to return to the sudden task at hand, asking the girl, "Abs, are you happy now?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes glittering with amusement as they hadn't moments earlier.

"Okay," Sheppard muttered, "Okay. You know what, Abby-girl? We're going to go see Uncle Carson..." he trailed off, forcing the rest of the statement to remain only a thought, '_so he can tell me I haven't lost it_.'

Another giggle came from her, though John figured it was the look on his face that had done it this time and not the notion that he was losing his mind. The latter of which Carson confirmed a half an hour later, preliminary lab results in hand.

"You're certainly still sane, John. No worries there," Beckett told him with a glance toward Abby, busily playing her favorite of the nurses. "Abigail, too, is quite sane. There's no need to worry for your wee one, but our original belief about their neurological system being the same as ours does have to be revised. It's really quite fascinating, actually. See, because the children were ill and malnourished, their brains weren't working at their proper capacity..."

The headache John had been fighting since he woke had increased with every word from his friend's mouth. "Carson? Not to sound ungrateful that my kid is fine and I am too, but could you just give me the short version of why she's a walking emotional barometer?"

"Genetics, John. She has always been this way, we simply never noticed. The original baseline scans we took when the children arrived were skewed. Yes, we'd gotten them well, but their brains took a while to catch up to the rest of their bodies. We didn't think to scan them again because, as I said, they were all medically cleared."

John settled back against the raised head of the gurney, half-scared that Carson's somewhat excited explanation would end with the news that Abby was some how endangered. His own father's voice floated into his head then, telling him that it would always be a parent's greatest fear – their child sick or hurt with no way to help them. He brushed it off in time to hear Carson go on.

"I have to contact some of the other parents, but assuming Abigail is the norm and not the exception, I'd say that we're looking at something close to telepathy. I don't mean we'll be having to teach them to not read people's minds, but more that they may be able to sense the emotional climate around them."

Groaning, Sheppard covered his face with his hands and murmured something Carson didn't catch. The doctor chose to let it be, rather than prod, and moved back to his office to afford his friend a moment of privacy.

It wasn't everyday that one found out their child was gifted, so to speak.

"_While grief is fresh,_

_every attempt to divert only irritates_."

- Samuel Johnson -

John was pacing.

Endlessly pacing.

"For the love of God, would you please sit down before you wear a hole into the botany lab's ceiling?" Rodney declared. He'd tried to continue working on one of his long term projects after John's initial entrance, but there was only so many times a person could watch the almost comical repetitive steps of a friend without getting dizzy.

"Can't." He continued to walk thirteen steps, turn, and walk another thirteen.

"Look, I know it's hard to hear that your kid has special powers, but she's not the only one," he said, the memo from Carson to senior staff still displayed on another computer screen. He gestured toward it and was thrown by the flinch that came in response. "You can't possibly be scared of your own kid!"

"No! Fuck no!" John shot back without hesitation, explaining, "I woke up this morning and it... it'd sunk in, Rodney, that Earth..." He trailed off and stopped his movement, lifting his hands to rest on the lab bench. "Anyway, she got upset because I was upset, so I'm trying to keep myself from feeling that way again."

"Oh, please. Everyone gets upset. She's going to have to learn it eventually."

"She's three, Rodney," John told him with an edge in his tone that was a hair harsher than usual. "I know we had crap childhoods, but that doesn't mean I want that for my kid."

"But that doesn't mean you should have to give up having emotions." He closed the laptop lid a bit forcefully, his own hands finding the table top and leaning into it. Eyes level with his best friend's, Rodney told him, "You spent six months with people who were trying to ascend. Can you honestly tell me that they never taught you how to open your mind to telepathy?"

"They did. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Sometimes I wonder why I'm still friends with you when you can be this obtuse: reverse the process. Make it so that instead of broadcasting, you're blocked off." Rodney stood up fully then, crossing his arms much the same as his goddaughter that morning.

The pacing resumed. "I don't know if that'll hurt her."

McKay's eyes tracked the other man as he went, feeling a headache of his own coming on. "Here's a crazy idea – why don't you ask Carson? He's better suited than I am in this medical mumbo-jumbo, but I doubt highly that you'd hurt her by removing your emotions from hers."

The next words out of Rodney's mouth were enough to startle John though he didn't even falter in his pacing, "Unless you want a reason to avoid grieving over Earth. Which, at the risk of sounding like a shrink, is unhealthy to say the least."

Sheppard shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe I'd be better off still feeling like it's a dream."

"And maybe Cassandra would have been better off dying with her family." Rodney pulled one of his classic faces, the one John jokingly called his 'wow, are you stupid!' expression. "Stop being a moron. Go talk to Vlasic."

"Claussen."

In the aftermath of losing Kate Heightmeyer to an alien entity invading their dreams, one of her underlings had taken up the post of being Head Psychologist. Many had been perfectly comfortable with the woman who now filled the chair, but John had already had a hard enough time learning to trust Heightmeyer and refused to give Rebekah Claussen a chance.

"Do I look like I care?" Rodney began to gather a few materials, piling several notebooks and handwritten operating manuals on top of a scratched and dented laptop. "Go talk to Elizabeth then, because you can't bottle it inside." With a sigh, he scooped up his work for the evening and admitted, "I tried and it just came out anyway."

Alone in the lab then, John let his head thunk down onto his hands. "Carson's wrong, Sheppard. You have lost it," he muttered as he realized that Rodney – _Rodney_ – had only minutes earlier given him psychological advice.

He shook his head against that particular fact, refusing to let it be the reason he was now walking toward the control tower where, coincidentally, Elizabeth would be starting her afternoon shift. With any hope, she would have a good idea of how to handle his emotion reading daughter and say goodbye to Earth at the same time.

John had settled so firmly into his thoughts that he didn't notice the people who were walking along beside him, talking though he wasn't answering. Ronon and Cassandra had seen him as he passed by the entrance to one of the rec rooms and had gotten up from the couch they'd commandeered to join him. Nattering on, they were telling him about the people who'd finally left behind the Icarus for the safety of Atlantis, but they knew he wasn't listening when he failed to remark about the possibility of gene carriers in some of the survivors.

"John," Ronon called as Cassie said, "Colonel Sheppard?"

His eyes snapped between them. "Ronon, Miss Fraiser. What can I do for you?"

"You all right?" Dex asked, gruffly. He had been privy to the notice of medical observation on the children, but he hadn't thought twice about it. Taking in the sight of Sheppard now, however, he wondered if there was something their CMO had failed to mention.

"Yeah. I have something to talk to Elizabeth about," he admitted, hand going to his head in a fashion that was both gesture and nervous tic. "Kind of got lost in the thought."

"Well if you're looking for Elizabeth, she won't be in her office. She and Grau traded shifts."

"_If you see a friend without a smile,_

_give him one of yours_."

- Proverb -


	5. Five

"_If you see a friend without a smile,_

_give him one of yours_."

- Proverb -

Matthias Alton had heard the plunk of the rocks before he saw his new commanding officer. He'd been exploring the city, on his own, for over an hour, trying to acquaint himself with the corridors and living sections that now made up his home when the noise reached his ears.

At the edge of the pier, John Sheppard was sitting on the metal grating, reaching out every so often to grab a rock and hurl it as far as he could one-handedly.

"High-speed aggressive projectile therapy, sir?" He said after getting closer. Matt waited until Sheppard had waved at a spot beside him to sit, picking up his own stone and flinging it into the water below.

"It was this or get drunk. Figured this makes it easier than having to find someone to watch Abby for the night," John said, never looking away from the choppy ocean waves. A storm was coming, nothing major like the hurricane though; perhaps some thunder and lightening, maybe a little hail. It was the right time of year for that.

"Colonel?"

John shifted his attention back to the man beside him. "Sorry. I'm having a hard time keeping focused at the moment." He grabbed another rock, flipping it over in his hands and running his fingers along the smooth side. "How did they know when the invasion was going to come?"

"They sent ahead a message," he snorted. "We had to reveal the program the day they sent it. After all, it's a bit hard to ignore or cover-up the simultaneous murder of several world leaders. It was their way of saying that they were going to come with or without compliance from us."

It had been a dark day, that one. Matthias and the others under the auspices of Stargate Command had only been given half an hour's notice of what was about to happen and even then, no one had been prepared to deal with the fallout.

Ha, fallout. That had taken on a whole new meaning as the Icarus had finally managed to get past their attackers ships. In the seconds before they'd launched into hyperspace, there had been a strange light from behind them and a warning had popped up on the main screen, but the adrenaline had been pumping and no one had thought anything of it. Not until they had crossed a third of the distance between Earth and Atlantis.

"It's funny, you know. I never missed it," John said in a hushed voice. "Didn't even think of Earth most days because this is more like home than any place I've ever been."

"But it was there, sir, like a safety net. Even if you never heard from the SGC again, Earth was there." Alton grabbed up his own rock to play with, going on, "Without it, you really are stranded and alone."

"Last of the humans from Earth." Sheppard's mutter was little more than a whisper and he hurled the rock in his hands with all the anger he could, hoping that when he stepped back into the city he had not made life harder for the pregnant Teyla who was watching Abby.

They sat in silence for a while longer, plucking rocks from the piles along the pier's perimeter and hocking them into the water. There was so much more John wanted to ask, but he knew that once he started, his heart would break and he couldn't take an evening like his morning.

It was as if on cue or guided by some unseen hand that Teyla chose the moment he was to part ways with Alton to call him. Her greeting was soft in his ear, soothing and calming; she spoke in an even tone as she let him know that Abby had fallen asleep. "_She is welcome to spend the night, John. Ronon is... quite the picture with her._"

Permission given and his worries lessened, John looked to his newfound friend. "Teyla and Ronon have Abby for the night which brings me back to my original options. How would you feel about joining me in quarters for a pity party?"

"So long as you have some place for me to crash, sir," Matt answered, fearful it sounded like a come on.

"Well, I'd offer you a bed but I plan to sleep in mine and Abigail's barely fits her these days, but I have got a fantastic sofa. If you ignore the crayon, peanut butter, and milk stains."

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

"John," he corrected and got to his feet, waiting for the other to follow. Once they had started toward the city entrance, Sheppard told him, "First thing you've got to keep in mind here is that we're pretty relaxed. On missions, it's rules and regs – no changes. In the city, in or out of uniform, we're fine with towing the line a bit."

"That's good to know," Alton smirked as they stepped over the threshold of the doorway and turned in the direction of John's quarters.

"_Courage is being afraid,_

_but going on anyhow."_

- Dan Rather -

The alarm clock that woke Elizabeth had been unceremoniously hurled across the room. Its intended fate – smashing into the wall – had been thwarted by her husband exiting their bathroom, the clock striking him firmly in the forehead.

"I told Carson you are cruel to me. Now I've proof!" Radek smirked and crawled onto the covers, unaware of the cause for the woman's anti-electronic behavior. He was unprepared for the pillow that hit him square in the face, nor the pillow that was pulled over Elizabeth's head. "Is something wrong?"

"I think I'm dying," she said, voice somewhat muffled by the pillow covering her mouth.

It took a few moments for her statement to sink in, but once it had, Radek let out a full belly laugh – his wife was most certainly not dying. No, she was _hungover_. "I think you are still as much a..." he trailed off as he recalled the word John was so fond of using, "lightweight as you were when we arrived."

She lifted the pillow's edge just enough to glare at him. It revealed quite the picture with her eye makeup wiped to one side, lipstick remnants coloring her lips like an odd marble, and her long hair somewhat knotted and frizzy from not brushing it before falling asleep.

Still, as much as teasing her about her inability to drink copious amounts of liquor and be fine was entertaining, he knew she needed some water and aspirin if she intended to get out of bed at all that day. After he'd returned and seen to it that she had taken the meds, he asked, "Who else is going to be visiting the infirmary today, hm?" It was always his way of asking who she'd been drinking with on the rare occasions she did.

"Colonel Alton," she admitted, sitting up with her eyes squinting against the morning light. "John and Evan, and I think Chuck showed up at some point." She sighed as she began the surprisingly-hard process of getting out of bed, and told him, "We were reminiscing a bit, sharing stories. I'm sorry I wasn't home when you were."

"You are entitled to your friends. It is not like I and Rodney have never drank ourselves into oblivion before and we've spent a night apart." He tried to avoid thinking of the last time they'd gotten inebriated; they were both quite suggestible when in that state and Sheppard had, well, dared them to do something the city residents still laughed about.

"True." The remark was accompanied by a gentle smile. "Oh, I am never doing that again," she muttered, trudging toward the bathroom. The aspirin was starting to kick in which made the shiny fixtures a lot less annoyingly painful to look at, but the spray of the water in the shower pounded in her skull and she once again glared at the man she loved.

Standing beside the shower cubicle, he was trying his best to look innocent. Radek knew she didn't buy it for an instant and that he really was starting to toe the line, but damnit, it was not often Elizabeth did something so spontaneous as drink to excess.

From the moment of their arrival, she had held herself to a very high standard with regards to running the city. It made it difficult for her, those first months, to find a balance between work and relaxation until the day that John had coaxed her from her quarters to a private celebration of their survival of the hurricane, plied her with liquor, and gotten her to laugh.

It was in the aftermath of the nanovirus incident that she started to loosen up and spending time with friends a little more than in the past. Their survival of the siege, strange and still hard to describe given the number of hands involved, had started the evolution of the city's society and, by association, Elizabeth Weir herself.

She continued to hold herself to a higher level, forever trying to prove herself despite already being well-loved and respected by her people, but she would, every so often, settle down for a private gathering with friends. Her marriage to Radek had made it more likely she'd spend time around friends as well, though he swore it wasn't enough.

A wet washrag was flung at him and Radek asked, "Am I wearing a target?"

"Hm, no," she said. "But you're an easy mark for the moment."

"Good to know. Shall I join you or will I have to duck flying shampoo containers?" He pointed at the shower, where the water was falling in a softer, quieter mist as opposed to fat, heavy, loud droplets. He wished he could take credit for the change in setting, but Atlantis, their intelligent city, had taken it upon herself to care for Elizabeth.

She made no effort to move, her fingers taut on the edge of the sink. Her eyes had closed again and for a brief moment, Zelenka wondered if her headache had worsened. Then she spoke and he realized what was happening.

Of those in Atlantis who had come from Earth, all were navigating the stages of grief though the pace of it was different for each person. Some were angry, some were bargaining, some depressed. There were those still in denial like John, like Elizabeth, while there were those who had run the gamut to acceptance so quickly Claussen had worried.

Radek was among that group, the ones who'd simply accepted. He, in truth, hadn't been torn up by the loss, if only because he knew his family and he knew that they hadn't been scared no matter what their fate. They would have said goodbye to each other when they had the chance and entrusted their lives to a God he himself had never believed in.

And beyond his family, he'd never really felt he belonged on Earth anyhow. It just hadn't felt as much like home to him as Atlantis did, so the loss of the planet didn't hurt him as deeply as some of the others.

"It's just us now, Radek," she whispered. "There's no help to be had if we needed them and could contact them. There's no chance of more crew, more food, more medicine..." She leaned forward over the sink, her forehead pressing against the cool surface of the mirror.

"It has only been us for a long time. We have made it eight years on our own staff, our own foods, and our own medicines," he pointed out in a softened voice, not allowing any of the humor from earlier to color his words. "Elizabeth, if Matthias had not managed to reach us, we would never have known what happened to Earth."

"No," she responded when he stopped. "We have had a fully-charged ZPM for years now. We never dialed them. We never even attempted to."

Moving from the shower to Elizabeth, Radek lifted his hands to rest on her shoulders and spun her slowly, made her look at him. "Regret for what we didn't do will only eat you alive. We needed to stretch the power of the ZPM as much as possible, you know that. Even if we had contacted them, we could not have helped them, not against..."

"Don't. Don't say it." Her voice was a whisper. Upset as she may be, Weir was only now facing the reality that there absolutely was no 'going home again' as the saying went. She was not ready to deal with the reason such was so, including hearing the name of the race that had nearly wiped them out.

"We may be the last ones left, but if they knew of Atlantis – if we were in contact – there may be no one left. They might have invaded Pegasus, too, and gained control of the city." He hoped that she understood what he was trying to say, what he truly believed himself. Because in the end, while those from Earth were the last beings in existence to have stood on her soil, they were _alive_.

Without a word, she moved into his arms and her head fell to his shoulder, her body not tense yet not relaxed. She was trying to put up her walls, he knew, so she could go to work and be the leader and pretend that the newest facet to their life in the Pegasus galaxy wasn't bothering her.

It wasn't going to work, though. She had always governed her city with her heart as much as her mind and hearing them, seeing them, and knowing the grief they were all feeling would get to her at some point. Perhaps that's why she had gone drinking: to have something to blame the headache on when it inevitably arrived.

"Take the day off," he told her, his mouth close to her ear. "Take the day off and talk to Rebekah."

For a moment, she contemplated it. Which, of course, was when both of their radios began calling their names from across their quarters.

The string of curses that escaped Radek's lips was more than colorful and Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh as he stomped away like a child to answer Rodney's demand for attention.

"_The family you come from isn't as important_

_as the family you're going to have."_

- Ring Lardner -


	6. Six

"_The family you come from isn't as important_

_as the family you're going to have."_

- Ring Lardner -

"You know, of all of us, I think Alton's the only one still in denial," John remarked one evening, his feet up on the coffee table in the south pier lounge.

When they had, in their first year, discovered a charged and functioning ZPM protected by the Brotherhood, Rodney had (in order): cradled it, kissed it, installed it, and allowed the city to finally be _used_. No more were they restricted to the main tower, nor were they fearful of encountering the wraith though they still avoided that at all costs.

However, that ZPM meant they could stretch out and use formerly off-limits sections like the fantastic self-regulating green house on level 4 and the cozy lounges that dotted Atlantis' living areas. One of the latter had been nicknamed "couchland" for the many comfortable sofas and recliners that were stuffed into the room. It was, by far, the senior staff's favorite meeting place.

"No," Rebekah Claussen, five foot six with brown hair and matching eyes and a tenacity that rivaled Rodney's, said, and explained, "It's not denial. It's another stage of grieving, but not denial."

"I thought you were bound by patient-client confidentiality, huh?" Rodney picked at her, the tone accusatory though it was more for appearances. He knew well that the woman would not release personal information unless completely necessary, particularly after he'd been infected with the Second Childhood disease also known as the Brain Slug from Hell.

"Carson?" She looked at her superior, who was losing a game of poker to Evan Lorne.

Throwing down the cards he had been holding, he told them, "It's not overstepping the bounds of confidentiality unless she were to confirm a diagnosis or discuss the content of sessions. Just saying he's grieving is a statement of fact. I'm out."

"Oh, come on, Carson. I haven't had the chance to win the shirt off your back yet," Doctor Biro joked.

"Aye, and you'd have Rodney to deal with if you succeeded." The laugh he gave was short but amused and Evan waved him away from the table. He stood up and offered his chair to Stackhouse, who'd been waiting to play, before settling in beside his partner with a smile toward John.

With the discovery of the children's abilities, Carson had feared the reaction it could muster. It wasn't life-sucking aliens from another galaxy shocking, yes, but it wasn't something mundane like walking through the Stargate had become. He'd genuinely worried that people would think the children were reading minds or were little spies for someone.

Of course they were ridiculous notions, yet he'd been scared just the same of what would come to pass. Within twenty four hours, however, the parents had started to adjust, the initial awkwardness over. Including John Sheppard, presently sitting comfortably in one of the overstuffed chairs, feet up, and Abby sleeping on his chest as though her father were the best bed in the city.

He was brought back to the conversation at present, when Elizabeth said, "All the same, I suggest we let him be. Talking about him without his knowledge at such a sensitive time is wrong of us."

"Unless it is with my knowledge," Matt said from the doorway that no one had noticed open. The downside to having gotten so comfortable in Atlantis was that most everyone had learned to tune out the everyday noises like doors and, in one notable instance, the fire alarm.

"Colonel," Elizabeth immediately started, intending to apologize for the gossiping he'd caught them doing, but was stopped by the wave of a hand.

"Trust me, ma'am, this is not the first time I've been discussed nor do I believe it will be the last. I consider it the sign of people who care rather than those who don't." He sat back with a sigh of contentedness on the only unoccupied recliner in the room, adding, "It's human nature anyway. I'd worry if you all _didn't_ talk about others."

"Unique perspective," John commented. Abby shifted and snorted against his chest, rooting around in her sleep for a second as though she were waking only to fall back into her dreams and settle. Sheppard let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding and spoke again, "Most people would get pretty pissy if they knew we gossiped."

"Sir, I've been in the service most of my life. Granted it's not the amount of time as you put in prior to the expedition, but it was long enough to have walked in on more than one superior consulting another about my record."

"Oh, god, tell me you're another self-destructive martyr with an inability to keep it in your pants!" Rodney declared, his laptop falling to his thighs with a sharp smack.

Really, the last thing Atlantis needed was another renegade flyboy that disobeyed orders. Which McKay still classified John as despite the changes that the man had gone through over the course of the last eight years. Abby had calmed Sheppard's recklessness; time and age had seen him become less of a playboy though he was not immune to a pretty face (and yes, he continued to be broadsided by things like seductive alien princesses.)

Alton laughed, truly and heartily, for the first time since arriving in the galaxy he would eventually call home. "God, no! I'm just a glorified chauffeur for the brass," he replied, the amusement dying from his tone and his gaze shifting to the floor for a few moments. "I _was_ just a glorified chauffeur for the brass." He cleared his voice, and forced a smile onto his face.

The words tumbled from him unchecked, "I understand that this is a place you all love and are used to, but how did you handle it? How did you make it a home when nothing here is familiar in the least?" He looked at John, confusion in his eyes. "My shower started this morning by itself, to exactly the temperature I like – how did you ever get used to that?"

"Because I never belonged on Earth," John replied, not even a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Atlantis was the first place that actually felt like home, so it was easy to accept it."

Rodney nodded in agreement with Carson saying, "here, here," and Elizabeth smiling.

"Remember that we all knew this was most likely a one way trip. None of us were married, none of us had kids," Sheppard explained, "and more than a few of us came from lower class backgrounds. Those of us who didn't were generally the kids that weren't what mommy or daddy expected so they were were ignored. Or were McKay."

It was a normal jab. Nothing out of the ordinary for John to say about his best friend. They were, after all, sniping back and forth at each other all the time and everyone was used to it.

Today, though, Rodney promptly stood and flipped off John, before snatching up his sleeping goddaughter and walking out of the room. A quiet exit and so completely unusual that Sheppard winced, looking to Carson.  
"Hit the sore spot?" He asked, prepared to follow after the other man if it were needed.

"Yes, but let him be," Beckett said, one hand waving aimlessly in the air. "He's... well, he's actually justifiable being a prat right now."

"_I'm hearing what you say,_

_but I just can't make a sound_."

- OneRepublic -

It was Matthias who ended up leaving Couchland to find Rodney, not Sheppard.

While the others were unconcerned with the Head Scientist's behavior nor his safety and assured him that it was normal for Rodney to retreat when something truly bothered him. Anger, frustration, annoyance – those where the indicators that he was upset, yes, but those particular responses were for less painful things. However, the events and issues that really hurt him caused him to evade contact with others, nursing the wounds and then he'd come back stronger.

Alton had made a face at that and walked away, intending to find the man who had left so abruptly. He understood that they had all bonded over the eight years they'd been cut off from Earth; he was learning that they weren't friends – they were a family unit. They knew each other in ways that newcomers never could, but he still didn't like that they would let him disappear into the bowels of Atlantis without so much as a second thought.

He was starting to figure out the city corridors and living areas, thankfully, and as he walked along in his search, Matthias was able to recognize particular places: the secondary science labs, medical storage, personal storage, classrooms. He spared a moment of contentment for that – the knowledge that he was learning his new home – before he heard the soft sound of a child's laughter followed by an easily identifiable voice.

Turning the corner from the medical research section, Matthias zoned in on the noise, tracking it until he was standing before an archway leading into one of the children's play areas. Much like the couch-covered room the senior staff and chosen for themselves, the children had apparently been allowed to play in the large atrium once and begged to go back.

It wasn't something special. Just an open room with only one door to balcony beyond the tall windows, blankets and soft cushy pillows spread across the floor. Toys, more handmade than alien-purchased, were piled into bins or scattered across the floor at random intervals.

And there in the middle of it all with his legs crossed in front of him, was Rodney McKay, goddaughter laughing hysterically at the faces he was making from his lap. Dark hair, cornrows on her head, swung wildly as she moved with her hands clapping and her giggles slipping through the room.

"My mother always told me that the longer you hold your face like that, the more likely it'll stick that way," Matt remarked, leaning against the door jam comfortably with his arms crossed and a small grin on his lips.

Alton had expected a sharp retort at that, perhaps something of an insult to his mother, but Rodney only shrugged. He wondered if that were due to the child in his lap or the fact that when he stopped making entertaining faces for his goddaughter, he looked as though the weight of the world was sitting on his shoulders.

Rodney whispered something to the girl, kissed her hair and watched her as she danced off toward the transporter without saying anything to Matt. She was gone a few moments later, a smile on her face as she stood on the step stool and waved goodbye to her godfather.

"What do you want?" Rodney asked, his voice laden with exhaustion.

"I don't really know," Matt replied truthfully. Perhaps to check on McKay, perhaps to check on Abby, or maybe to see if the bluster Rodney put forth was covering for something. All he was sure of in that instant was that he needed to be there, settling onto the floor across from the scientist in the silence that followed his answer.

The minutes passed, both sitting there without saying a word.

Rodney broke it first. "Look, I don't know what they said to you but I do not need a babysitter or a watchdog. I'm not in danger of doing anything stupid – I'm not one of Sheppard's grunts."

"Who said they told me anything? And I would never assume you'd do anything less than intelligent, McKay. I told you – I don't know what I want. I just thought that you'd like some company."

"Company's the last thing I need," McKay muttered, but he did nothing to dismiss the man before him. "You have siblings?"

"Had a sister, a brother-in-law, a nephew and two nieces." Alton hadn't hesitated in his answer, his head propped up from the floor by a blue pillow.

"Were you close?"

The laugh that tumbled from Matthias' lips was filled with sarcasm and frustration. "Hell no. She hated me from the minute she was born. Mom plopped her in my lap, she started screaming, and it continued right into adulthood."

Rodney paused before his next question, as if deciding whether or not to ask it. He finally opened his mouth and spoke without thinking, "Did you see her before the end?"

"No," Matt told him. "I tried to call, but she never picked up the phone. I assume she and her husband had taken the kids to church to pray for us – she was devout Catholic – but I don't know for sure. I hadn't talked to her in four or five years."

"Do you think she was scared?" McKay's voice was as nonchalant as ever, though his eyes were set firmly on the floor.

"It happened so quickly. We got the messages from them, the world leadership was taken out, the SGC was revealed to the public, and then they came and that was all within days," he said, "I think that she was too busy trying to process what was going on to be afraid. We were all pretty blindsided."

McKay looked at him, nodded to himself before cracking his neck. "I need to get back to the lab," he stated, disappearing without so much as a 'see you later' to Matthias, who knew something had happened between then yet unsure of exactly what.

"_Acceptance is not submission;_

_it is acknowledgment of the facts of the situation."_

- Kathleen Casey Theisen -


	7. Seven

"_Acceptance is not submission;_

_it is acknowledgment of the facts of the situation."_

- Kathleen Casey Theisen -

The morning marking the fourth month of the Icarus' arrival, Rodney rolled over and poked Carson in the chest. "Are you awake?" he asked, prodding the man once more when Carson failed to respond quickly enough.

"'m now." Beckett's reply was somewhat slurred, his face still buried firmly in his pillow. He'd crawled into bed not more than a few hours earlier, having worked overnight for Jennie Biro who had come down with a virus. While he had worked a fair number of back-to-back shifts in his life, he'd always gotten to sleep for ten or so hours afterward under penalty of death if woken.

Rodney, of course, never seemed to heed that threat.

There was a moment of heavy silence, the kind that descended when Rodney was contemplative about something abnormal. Maths, physics, aerodynamics; the usual topics that ran through his mind where reserved for Radek, Kavanagh, or even Chuck. Carson got the rest, the things that Rodney held to himself for no reason other than he wasn't sure how to say it. Articulating his thoughts was not exactly the man's strong suit.

"I regret not contacting Earth," he said, voice bold in the pale sunlight that had just begun to fill their bedroom. "I regret not thinking to send another databurst to them after the first, but I think that if we had, they might have tried to come here and death by nuclear blast is quicker than Wraith."

"Rodney?"

"I mean, Carson," he went on without acknowledging the interruption, "Atlantis is big, but not big enough. We would have needed settlements, would have had to spread out and it would only have been a matter of time before they were eaten by Wraith or captured by the Asurans. We saved them from that."

Carson reached one hand toward Rodney, flattening his palm over his husband's heart to feel the quick beat of it. "We did," he murmured, unsure of what else to say. Perhaps there wasn't anything to say, he decided as Rodney rolled toward him and laid one arm over Carson's side.

The minutes went by with nothing more said; Carson was sure that Rodney had fallen asleep and had just closed his eyes to do the same when Rodney broke the quiet once more.

"Teyla's doing a ring ceremony for Cassie Fraiser. Elizabeth thinks it'll help her get closure."

"Aye, poor thing could use some after all she's lost." Carson hesitated a bit, wondering if what he was about to say was right but knew it needed saying. "You should ask Teyla to do the same for you."

"No, I have something else I need to do," Rodney immediately retorted. "Jeannie... made me promise her that if anything happened to her, I'd..." he trailed off, unable to finish as the memory floated back to him.

Home had never been a fond place for either he or his sister in their younger days. Fighting between their parents was a daily occurrence, verbal abuse flung at them common, and once or twice Rodney found himself locked in the attic with Jeannie while they hid behind full tote bins of holiday decorations, their father so angry that the neighbors would call in a domestic disturbance.

It was one of those nights that Jeannie, all of twelve, looked at him and begged for a promise. He'd promised and chastised her for reading psychology books in the same breath before distracting her with the Fibonacci sequence; his gut had churned with her request because even he, lacking most social skills born to average people, was disturbed by her request.

He'd always assumed that the pairing of his career with his poor eating and sleeping habits would find him in an early grave, an assumption that had become more concrete when he'd arrived in Pegasus, and he'd hoped that would save him from ever having to carry through on his promise. Jeannie could outlive him and he was fine with that – genius was in their blood and she had been so incredibly happy to be a mother.

Yet here he was, the sun cresting overhead of the puddlejumper while John piloted him away from Atlantis toward the land mass they called New Lantea, an homage to their former world. Carson, Elizabeth, Radek, Abby, and others were seated in the cargo, chatting quietly with each other as Atlantis shrank into the horizon.

"You okay, buddy?" John asked on the approach, having glanced over to see Rodney's hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were milk-white and his lips were drawn. He looked like a man on his way to execution, not the friend who had met and risen above some of the most harrowing of Pegasus' challenges.

"Just land," Rodney replied. He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the confines of the 'jumper, by the task at hand and he needed air desperately. So desperately that the door in the ramp of the shuttle hadn't even opened fully when Rodney dashed out and pulled in a breath of air that was cool in his chest.

Abby called out for him with a laugh, her brilliant mind unable to comprehend this – a memorial and a goodbye rolled together – and she ran toward him in a simple white chemise one of the Athosian women had made her. She collided with his legs, still laughing, and wrapped both arms around him, tilting her head back to look at him.

He reached down to pick her up and his hands had reached her arms when she said, quietly, "She's okay."

"What?" Rodney's brow furrowed, confused by the child's words. "Who's okay, Abby?"

Her eyes locked with his and without flinching, she explained, "Aunt Jeannie. She said to tell you she's okay," and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "She's with the Others."

Rodney's mind ground to a halt at the last word. To anyone else, Others would mean nothing but to him, standing near a sharp cliff with an ocean crashing against rocks below him and the ashes of a bouquet of flowers in place of his sister's and her family's in his hands, it meant everything.

Too shocked to speak, Rodney looked at John who only turned his gaze to his daughter and asked, "How do you know that?"

"Because she told me."

John knelt down at her side. "How, Abby? How did she tell you?" Abigail had never met Jeannie, had never heard her name nor Madison's, and while she had no motive to lie, if she was, John would be far more upset with her than he ever had been.

She giggled softly, covering her mouth with both hands. She locked eyes with her father, laugh turning to a hum which gave way to a soft melodic sound that was perfect and angelic like the background music that Atlantis sang with. Her skin began to glow, her body disappearing in a mist of golden light until she was nothing more than a ball of pure energy floating sweetly in front of their eyes.

"Abby," John murmured, fearful for what had just transpired in front of him. He touched a finger to her, feeling a sharp burst of something race through him. "Abby..."

Then, as slowly as she had ascended, Abigail returned to corporeal form, little feet touching the grass and the warm cotton fabric brushing her skin. She looked to her godfather again, repeating, "Aunt Jeannie is okay."

Dropping the ashes he'd held, Rodney stared at the little girl and then pulled her into his arms.

The next day Rodney would walk into the lab issuing orders and telling people it was time to get back to work, pushing everyone hard so they could resume their lives and move forward. He'd sit in front of his computer and pull up renderings of a machine he wanted to construct, diagrams of things on the Icarus that needed fixing, and mission briefings.

But for now, he held onto his niece and let the tears fall.

"_Live life so completely that when death comes to you like a thief in the night,_

_there will be nothing left for him to steal._"

- Anon -


	8. Interlude 1: Red Rum

"Thank you, God, for this bounty of chemical joy," Matthias breathed upon seeing the bottles of homemade booze stacked neatly into the wall fridge.

When Sheppard laughed, though, he knew he'd been heard and found himself grinning in response. To be fair, the last time he'd had any decent alcohol, it had been in the officers' mess at Cheyenne the evening of the announcement. O'Neill had flown in from D.C., Carter from Area 51. Teal'c, Vala Mal Doran, and Mitchell had been off-world, doing what Alton didn't know – he never had paid attention to the SG briefings unless it pertained to him in some way. The only other SG-1 member, Daniel Jackson, had been there with his hand brushing O'Neill's whenever possible.

That night it had seemed like everyone in the SGC had crammed into the room, beer and vodka and gin and ouzo and more drunk over the course of the night. The crowd had changed throughout, never once mentioning what was happening topside.

"Radek's got a still in one of the old storerooms in area C-4," John told him.

"C-4, sir?"

"There were some... complications when he first set it up. We jokingly started referring to that section of the city as C-4 and it stuck." Pulling one of the bottles of shocking green liquor from the cabinet, he grabbed two glasses and filled them almost to the rim. "He's got it pretty stable now, so no worries on detonation. Bottoms up."

The contents of the glass were summarily gulped down in one shot by John, refilling it in seconds. He never put the actual alcohol bottle down, holding it by the glass neck and toting it from the tiny kitchenette to the overstuffed chair near the couch. There, he splayed out with one leg over a side and one arm hanging over the other, bottle still in hand.

Just as Matthias was opening his mouth to start some idle chit-chat, there was a ding at the door and John only flipped his gaze toward it, not saying a word. It took just a second for the door to open, revealing Evan Lorne in chinos and a loose tee with sneaker-clad feet.

"John," he started, startled somewhat when he saw Matthias and stopped, "I'm sorry, sirs, I didn't know."

As he turned to go, Sheppard called out, "Lorne. Get your ass in here and start drinking," and refilled his own glass. "You know where the cups are and if I have to say it again, your team goes with Zelenka to M7G-677 next time."

The fake groan was amusing, but he did as he was told, collapsing onto the couch with a theatrical sigh. "I didn't think I'd ever miss a good microbeer," Evan said before holding out his glass to be filled. "My brother was going to start one up, make good non-frills beer. I don't know if he went ahead with it or not, though."

The first bottle of booze had been emptied by the time Lorne had finished telling them about his brother and his homemade ale and they'd cracked open the second with Chuck Brady (the _jokes _to be made, dear god) splayed out on the floor, a stuffed bear under his head, while Elizabeth sat in a nearby chair.

"Pickles. Proper half-sour pickles," she threw into the pool of foods they were all missing and wishing for.

"No, I have the _one_," Chuck muttered up at them. He held his glass high in the air and saluted the item as he told them, "Dagoba Chocolate. There is an art to the alchemy of chocolate," before taking the last sip of what the Atlanteans called Red Rum.

Elizabeth groaned and held out her glass, "Oh, god, don't remind me about chocolate."

John tipped the bottle to pour more into her glass, watching as two drops emptied and nothing else. As he got to his feet and reached for the third bottle of the night, he remarked, "Radek's going to kill me when I have to get more from the storeroom."

"I think he'll be less upset with you given how entertaining I'll be to him tomorrow morning."

"There is that," Sheppard laughed, uncorking an amber bottle and sniffing the contents. "Purple Bass," he muttered, "I hate the Purple Bass."

"Purple Bass, sir?" Matt asked, watching his superior put the bottle to his lips and pulled a long drink from it.

"One of the malt liquors Zelenka makes. He's gotten better than the shit we had when we first got here, but some of them are... acquired tastes." Evan reached for the bottle in Sheppard's hand and returned to the conversation from earlier, remarking, "Chocolate's good, but, and I never thought I'd say this, MRE's."

"You miss that crap?"

Lorne grinned at Alton. "God yes! It took the cafeteria staff three years after the last one got eaten to figure out how to pack them small enough to fit in the mission packs. I still don't put my spare weaponry in a pack if I can – brown sauce is not the best lubricant."

"In any manner of speaking," Brady laughed.

"I do not want to know how you know that!"

The laugh that was shared was hearty and Matt wondered briefly if he would ever have the same kind of easy camaraderie with them. He hadn't had any real friends on the Icarus; everybody had been too laden in their grief and most stuck to the friends they already had, if any. The closest relationship he'd had was the strange sort of brotherly-closeness he shared with Cassandra though he rarely saw her these days; he wasn't sure if he should feel upset over her acceptance of Atlantis, her integration without effort, or if he should be happy for her.

He sipped the Purple Bass, curious about the name but refusing to ask, and said, "I won't miss the NID or the Trust. Or the Gou'ald, or..." he trailed off. God, he hated that name; instead he added, "I will miss seeing SG-1 around though. I don't think a day went by where I didn't see at least one of them running around."

Lorne nodded, understanding how calming it had been – once – to see the members of the flagship team, running around Cheyenne without a glance toward those around them. They had always seemed to be at the heart of everything, figuring out every problem and staring down any enemy that dared cross them. He tried to recall the last time he'd seen them, the founding members, together, sitting at a lunch table in that frigid Antarctic base with smiles on their faces and coffee mugs cradled in their hands.

Those who had served in the SGC, who had seen the team, hadn't asked Alton about SG-1. It was an unspoken agreement; no one wanted to know if they'd died or survived, how they'd looked at the end, or anything else. Living with the hope they'd made it to the Alpha Site and their memories of them was far better than thinking of the most likely reality.

"Colonel O'Neill," Sheppard stated. "I didn't want to join the expedition at first. I figured I'd end up will all the shit work or just be a fucking light switch for the science staff. He got pissed at that, talked to my CO who made me take leave. I went back to my place in the States and sat out in a park, flipping a coin, when O'Neill shows up, sits down and starts talking about all these things he'd seen. The good stuff." With another slug of liquor, he told them, "Never got the chance to thank him for giving me the kick in the ass."

A snore from the other side of the living area broke the sudden melancholy in the room and Elizabeth laughed at the sight of Chuck, spread eagle on the carpet and one arm shoved under the coffee table. "Perhaps we should wrap up this discussion for another night," she remarked as she prodded the man with a sock-clad foot.

"How's friday?" Alton half-joked.

There was a passing silence, each person thinking it over and Evan nodded, saying, "I'm free after eighteen hundred," and stood. He looked at Sheppard, who waved him away and the Atlantean military's second-in-command left with a grin on his face with Matt joining him. He guided the man through the halls, knowing how confused he still was by the layout of the city, and when they reached his door, Lorne told him, "We all freak a little when new people come. Balances and everything, but you don't have to worry about it, Colonel."

"And why do you say that?" Matt asked, his hand poised over the door lock.

"Because you just started a new tradition," Evan grinned. "Sheppard wouldn't have agreed if he didn't think you belong around us."

"He that protective?"

With a snort of amusement, Lorne thought over the best way to explain to the man Sheppard's loyalty to his team, his almost tyrannical need to watch over the city... his hatred of anything that threatened his people. He finally told the other, "He's worse than Colonel O'Neill."


	9. Interlude 2: Tuesday Insomnia Breakfast

It didn't happen overnight.

At least that's what Rodney realized at two in the morning the day after the recent trade mission with the Ewoks (Reason John Sheppard Shouldn't Be Allowed to Name Things, Number 602) where twelve cases of turtle dove feathers had been the biggest haul. He was sitting at the lunch table with Elizabeth on his left and John on his right with Ronon shoveling food into his mouth as fast as possible opposite him and Carson bitching about tea from the mess line – completely normal for what was known on the mission as the Tuesday Insomnia Breakfast, a tradition started after the sixteenth time SGA-1 returned from a ridiculously late mission.

"Oh, God," he declared between the last forkful of eggs and the dregs of his coffee knockoff. "Shit."

"The bathroom is twenty-five steps away. You use the chair and you're cleaning it," John deadpanned, but stopped when he saw how the color had drained from his best friend's face. "You all right, buddy?"

"Fine. I'm fine." His hand flew to his ear as though someone had just called him and he stuttered through the worst excuse to leave ever told, before running full tilt out of the room. It was only after his lab doors closed behind him that he winced at his behavior.

Carson was definitely going to follow him and of course, he'd gone to the most logical place for Rodney to run to. Kicking himself, McKay wondered if he had enough time to go to Kavanagh's lab to hide, but the doors opened again to admit the doctor and Rodney knew he wasn't going to be getting off so easily when Carson slid onto a stool in front of the workbench, looking as though he was settling in for a long haul.

"So, Rodney," he started after ten minutes of Rodney fruitlessly banging equipment together in a desperate bid to get the man out of the lab.

"I'm fine." Rodney didn't look up from his bench, the Ancient's version of a pull toy suddenly more interesting than anything else in the room.

Carson lifted an eyebrow. He didn't need to speak for Rodney to get the message that he wasn't buying it and it wasn't an option to discuss.

"It's nothing," he tried.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," Carson said, going on promptly, "When my best friend suddenly acts like a bloody idiot to get away from the breakfast table, I tend to assume it wasn't the food."

Rodney tried to think of something that would explain that, but after spending the last thirty-six hours off-world and getting home in time to hear the kitchen staff drowsily cursing their names, he couldn't think of anything. Instead, he gave the other his best flustered face and answered, "I'm just overtired, Carson. That's all."

The assessing look that was cast over him seemed to be filled with doubt.

Rodney sighed, admitting, "There's this... person, all right?" He poked at the toy again, unable to look at his friend, a pitiful sight.

"Oh." Carson smiled. "Nursing a wee bit of a crush then, are you?"

The glare Rodney delivered in response was on par with the one he gave people he didn't think had two braincells to scrape together. It did little to scare off Carson who had leaned in closer and continued to grin as though completely amused by the development.

"Men don't have crushes," Rodney retorted, but it only caused his friend to laugh. "I hate you."

"I'm sorry, Rodney," Carson said between chuckles, calming himself. "It was just that I was starting to despair for you – it's is certainly not healthy to spend all of your time by yourself."

"Oh, come on. I'm never by myself. Atlantis would be blown up by the morons Elizabeth keeps allowing to touch things. I've told her more than once that the city will go back to the ocean floor if she lets anymore idiots ignore my orders, but no, she thinks that the natives will have more insight than me..."

"Rodney!" The shout broke off the tirade, Beckett sighing and admitting, "I didn't mean to tease. I simply meant that others are settling down and you still act like you've got something to prove to the SGC."

"Not the SGC," he muttered, thinking of the last two discoveries he'd hand-delivered to the infirmary.

Carson pulled back a bit, straightening up and said, "Trying to impress some young lass then," as though he were turning it over in his head. It was a few minutes before he said anything else, his mind racing as he tried to figure out who exactly was the object of Rodney's affections.

"Look, I should be going to bed," McKay declared, uncomfortable. "We have a mission in the morning so we can finish this pointless conversation later. Now, if you don't mind..."

"It's not a woman, is it?"

"Where the hell did you get that idea?" Rodney asked with eyes wide, trying to figure out where the sudden question had come from. And how Carson had guessed (correctly!) that Rodney was higher on the Kinsey Scale than anyone might guess.

"It is!" Beckett's grin returned.

"I never said that!" Rodney shot back, but it was weak, the tone of his voice less than convincing, and as Carson opened his mouth to say something else, McKay's finger went to his ear as it had earlier. Stuttering through a one-sided conversation, he dashed from the room without a goodbye.

Carson just continued to grin, the analytical part of his brain piecing together evidence into a hypothesis. "Yup, it's a lad," he murmured into the lab before turning and disappearing into the corridor, whistling a gentle tune.


	10. Interlude 3: Nameless

Elizabeth had sent them on a simple trading mission, same as the day before and the day before that, and why yes, she had expected some level of fuck-up. It was _John_ and _Rodney_ and they weren't the most tactful of her staff, but they always got the job done.

The first contact team had managed to secure twelve trading partners in the first year, six the second (they may have become known as the Wraith Wakers – Rodney's term), and nine the third. By their fifth they had bolts of cloth coming in twice a week, food shipments everyday; herbal medicines and equipment from one planet came twice a month to Carson's delight.

But in the interests of having things to trade with, Elizabeth still pushed for them to continue on the missions, gathering allies and supplies and trying to make a good impression on Pegasus residents as they went. So they went, looking for a list of items that started with apples and ended with a ZPM, which remained on the list even after they found one.

The Shopping List (John insisted it was said with capitals) had not included children.

"Major," she started.

The Gatrium was a source of mild chaos as some brave children ran underfoot of military personnel and medical staff who were trying to triage them; the rest of the new arrivals were huddled together as though expecting something terrible to happen to them.

"Long story," he answered, "but they're ours now." He set his weapon down by the main stairs, gesturing with one finger to his men to drop theirs as well, before turning back to the occupants and slowly approaching them.

He reached into the middle of the silent, clutching group and spoke so softly to them that no one else in the room could hear his words. Everyone watched the man as seconds passed, unsure what was happening, until John was able to straighten up, withdrawing a small child as he did so.

She was a scrawny thing wrapped in a tattered blanket that may have once been white, now dingy gray. The little feet peeked out from beneath the fabric were thin and Carson winced at what that meant for the rest of the wee thing's body. He could no longer hold himself back when she gave a small cry that was more a whisper than anything; Beckett plucked her from John's arms, wondering how any living being could be so light.

Looking at Sheppard, he asked, "What's her name?"

John only shrugged. He glanced to the children and admitted, "They don't have names." He frowned a little as he said it, upset that their parents had never even thought to give a name to the child they'd brought into the world, although perhaps by not doing so they could leave their offspring without guilt.

There was silence for a few minutes, expedition members looking over the children until someone in control called out, "She needs a name. No one who could..." there was a sigh and breath and the person finished, "Name her."

Faces turned and John realized they were expecting him to say something. He looked at Elizabeth, who only nodded at him and gave him one of her 'It's okay, John' smiles.

Shrugging, he said, "Abigail's a good name. Let's call her Abigail."


	11. Interlude 4: Blessing for a Miracle

They'd spoken little as they had settled her into the new room that would be her home now. Mostly Cassie had pointed and Ronon had grunted in acquiescence until the furniture was how she wanted it, her three outfits shoved unceremoniously into a drawer while her tattered linens from the Icarus covered the bed.

It was one of the smaller quarters, just a large living space with a dinette and a bathroom – nothing truly special. There was a decent sized balcony beyond the window-slash-door across from the entrance to her room; a lounge chair and an end table had been appropriated from Rodney and Carson's apartment, all ready for her to enjoy.

Entirely different than the home she'd left behind, she'd thought she would never be able to sleep in a place so alien yet as soon as she had crawled onto the mattress, her eyes had closed and she had begun to snore softly. She was fully clothed, shoes still on and in the dim light of the moons, Ronon had grinned at the picture she made.

He was trying to pull the worn sneakers off her feet and get her under the blanket when Teyla called, "_Ronon,_" in a gentle voice. It wasn't her insistent tone – the one that meant he was going to be on her bad side – so he took a moment to finish what he was doing before slipping out of the room and into the pale light of the corridor.

"Teyla," he said, leaning himself against the wall opposite Cassie's door.

"_It's well past dusk and you've not come home yet,_" Teyla responded. There was no direct question, but so many years with the woman had taught them both that he wouldn't answer one anyway. Ronon would tell her whatever he felt was appropriate rather than what she wanted and though Carson often groused that it would do him well to talk to someone, Ronon simply couldn't bring himself to do it, even with his wife.

But, for some reason, Ronon felt the urge at that moment tell her, "Cassie needed to move off the ship."

"_Oh._" She sounded a bit surprised, but he ignored that. "_John asked that you be reminded of tomorrow's mission._"

"I'll be there."

The rote answer fell from his lips and he listened with half an ear as she wished him a goodnight, already aware that he would spend the night at Cassandra's side rather than in their bed on the other side of the city. He crossed the hall, slipped through the door, and gazed down at the girl sleeping peacefully with her face half-sunk in a pillow filled with turtledove feathers.

It was a bit of a curiosity to him that a girl who had lost so much in a relatively short time had chosen him as her protector, her friend. Ronon had always been able to discern the differences between himself and the other residents of Atlantis, even seven years after he'd joined them in their fight against the Wraith. Even after he came to the realization that he'd found a new home with them and he would protect it as he had tried to protect Sateda.

He was gruff and unshaven and never quite understood the point of utensils when he'd been given two hands. He ate his weight in food sometimes (the kitchen staff groused from time to time that he ate in a week what Sheppard ate in a month); there were members of the science staff that still cowered in his presence, an intimidating air to him that he'd never attempted to lessen.

Yet somehow, as far as he was from the norm in Atlantis, Cassandra had gravitated to him. A few hundred people from Earth and she'd chosen a man who had never seen any of that world's wonders, didn't know much of its history, and could only recite bare facts of how it had fallen.

Ronon sighed, one hand reaching out to touch her head and in a whispered voice, he began to recite the prayer Acacia had taught him one night when she was a small child. A request and a blessing in one, words spun together for the protection and hope of a miracle.

Then he settled on the floor at her side, rested his head on the mattress, and let sleep take him.


End file.
